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must be convinced it does s&wteZfotp no other tooth powder does! 7MS71 ♦he difference brighter taste is the most delightful you ever enjoyed In a dentifrice. And the pleasure of Dr. Lyon's thrilling taste lasts to the last brushful. Jsr'i difference W1 _ ■/C\ Jt • • Your tonguo con f—l •*' how thoroughly Dr. Lyon'* cloans your tooth. That’s bo causo a practicing dontist put into Dr. Lyon’s tho best known ingredients for cleaning tooth and polishing them beautifully. lovad ona tall yaw haw bounti fully Dr. Lyon’* palithas. Jain thata who must ba convinced. Dr. Lyan't daat somathing no othar pawdar can do. It’ll do wendort for your tmilo, too. Q^Ap AziyeaZ foo/A/mukAp*'' Aecaaj& miAA&nj m/w/ AeAteve // Ap//pp U\. IioVs The Dark Shepherd BY CYNTHIA HOPE AND FRANCES ANCKER Illustrated by Karl Godwin How the Doetor dreaded this meeting: He had u hard duty to perform . . A Short Short Story The Chaplain lay propped against his white pillows, his gaze turned outward toward the open window, and beyond to the wide blue dome of the October heavens. He was humming softly to him self — a Negro spiritual filled with the questing melancholy of his race: Look down — look downnn — That lonesome road Before you travel on — The Doctor paused in the door way. His breath went from him in a hard sigh. Until this morning, he had hoped. Until this morning, he had hoped against his better knowledge that he might have good news for the Chaplain — for this dark shepherd of a battered battalion, whose courage had be come a legend. II e’d hoped he might say, “You'll walk again you’ll walk in your South, with its honeysuckle and its white cotton fields. You'll walk under the blue arch of the sky, and you’ll stand in your pulpit again and speak to your congre gation. It's only a matter of time — ” But this morning he’d seen the X-rays, and that “time” would be a lifetime. It would be forever. And he feared for the colored Chaplain whose faith had carried - him through battle — for the longer battle was ahead of him now. And today he must be told. The Doctor’s footsteps faltered, and the words — the genial, easy words — eluded him. He said sim ply, "Good afternoon. Good after noon, Chaplain — ” The dark man turned upon his pillow. The sun touched him — touched the long scar on his cheek, the wiry black of hit hair, the hands folded serenely on the cov erlet. Through fire and steel he’d come, his faith unwavering as a bright banner. Through dread and danger and the hot breath of war. But now? “Good afternoon, Doctor,” he said, and he seemed to be waiting — waiting, until the whol'' sterile cubicle of the hospital room wait ed with him. The Doctor turned away. Out side the window, the sea sighed — and spoke of time and space and the inevitable. At last the Doctor inquired, “How are you feeling today, Chap lain?” But his words were a sheath for the bitter edge of truth. “I’m stronger,” the Chaplain replied. Only his hands betrayed his restlessness, moving quickly over the covers; hands that had passed out Bibles, and lifted the wounded, and helped ‘wherever the help was needed. “I’m stronger,” he said again, and hope burned in his dark face like a flame against the night. He turned his eyes toward the table where his Bible lay, opened to some favored page; his gaze rested upon the book and then turned back toward the Doctor. “A lot of wisdom in that book,” he said after a moment; “a lot of things I’m going to preach about when I go back home.” Memory kindled in his eyes. “Congrega tion’s full of good people — most every one of ’em. But there’s a lot they never learned, Doctor, be cause there’s a lot I never knew CHON DAY THIS WKKK --I "If you don't mind my pointing it out, this search warrant is improperly drawn"